


sky hot silver, earth deep gold

by DraconianLotus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Is King, Canon-Typical Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Golden Age, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25860883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconianLotus/pseuds/DraconianLotus
Summary: It is the beginning of the Golden Age. Arthur has become a King of a Camelot who is embracing magic again, with Merlin as Court Sorcerer at his side. He is working to make up for his past mistakes and the Kingdom is prospering. But the time of the longest night and darkest day is approaching and something is stirring, rising again after an age of sleeping beneath the earth.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57





	1. One for Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously the last episode of Merlin never happened (closes eyes, plugs ears, and hums), and Arthur and Gwen never got together. Instead, the Golden Age of Camelot has arrived. There will be cannon typical violence, but I will put warnings and explanations in the notes for each chapters.
> 
> Merlin is a production of the BBC. I don’t own Merlin or any of the characters. 
> 
> Alrighty, lets go!
> 
> **Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of the aftermath of battle.**

“One for sorrow,  
Two for birth,  
Three for a funeral,  
Four for a birth,  
Five for silver,  
Six for gold  
Seven for a secret,  
never to be told.  
Eight for a wish,  
Nine for a kiss,  
Ten for a bird,  
You must not miss.  
Eleven is worse,  
Twelve for a dastardly curse.”

-One for Sorrow, Children's Nursery Rhyme

i. 

The magpie wheels across the sky. 

Arthur shields his eyes and watches it soar overhead. It is a rare bright morning. The snow is dazzling in the light, like powdered crystals coating the hills around Camelot. 

The bustle and noise of the lower town is muted from the battlements. Down below, the snow covering the courtyard has long since melted with the steady activity of his household. The castle had burst into activity as his servants prepare for the winter solstice festivities. Evergreen garlands decorate the throne room, woven with pinecones and holly to ward off spirits. There are roaring fires in each of the grates, pouring heat into the rooms to push back the biting cold of the season. 

It’s a stark difference from the winters of his childhood. His father was darker during this time of the year, and the executions always increased in frequency. Arthur used to avoid him as best he could, wondering at the change the long dark nights caused. Even though Uther passed years earlier, Arthur can still feel his disapproval at the integration of druid culture in the castle. 

He takes a deep breath. The cold air stings his nose, but the smell of savoury pies wafting up from the kitchen helps him shake the old melancholy from his thoughts.

A sharp wind gusts across his cheeks, and he pulls his cloak tighter around him. Up above, the magpie began to fly in slow arching loops. Arthur turns his face to the sun and shuts his eyes. 

“Hiding, Sire?”

Merlin is leaning against the doorway behind him, hands thrust into the hidden pockets of his cloak. He’s in deep blue and gold, high collar done up and hood thrown over his head to keep out the chill. It’s the only thing he’d allowed Arthur to commission for him, and only after Arthur insisted that no one would listen to a court sorcerer who was dressed in ratty trousers and tunics. Now, the gold seems to glitter in the winter sun light tiny stars. 

“I hardly think it’s your place to ask that,” Arthur sniffs at him, hiding his smile. “Don’t you have…” he wiggles his fingers in front of him, an imitation of a spell. “…tasks to occupy your time?”

Merlin chortles under his breath and comes to stand at Arthur’s side. “Don’t you have a council meeting to attend?” he counters, eyebrow raised. 

Merlin knows perfectly well that he does. He is also expected to attend, and isn’t that a change from the way things had been. Arthur can remember when Merlin was pouring him wine instead of seated at his side, whispering snide comments about Uther’s advisors under his breath until Arthur was red in the face from trying not to laugh. 

When he had overturned the ban on magic and begun restoring Camelot to what it had once been, Arthur knew it would be challenging to change his advisors minds. Many of them had served under his father, supported him in the blood and violence of the Purge. The endless days of policy change and fighting with the old members of his council on small but vital issues is exhausting. Diplomacy has never come as easy to him as swordplay, and he finds himself grinding his teeth on more than one occasion in an effort to hold his tongue. He knows this is important work, but the mulish refusal to respect the changes in court often makes Arthur want to burry his head in his hands. Although it has been almost two years since the new laws, reconciliation is not a fast process and Arthur knows it will be a long time still until his people trust him fully. Still, he will endure hours of arguments about crop yields and the effects of magic on farming in his kingdom to avoid walking in his father’s footsteps, to protect his people. 

But this morning the rare midwinter sun has been too inviting, and the prospect of yet another debate with Lord Borin about increased taxes for magic users had chased him up to the battlements. 

Arthur sighs in defeat and jabs the other man with his elbow. “I am the King, Merlin. They’ll hardly start the meeting without me.”

Merlin nods seriously, but his eyes glitter with mirth. “They’d never dare.”

There is a soft cry as the magpie spirals up into the sky again. Merlin tracks its progress, mouth quirked into a frown. 

It’s an odd reaction. Arthur opens his mouth to say so when the wind begins to blow again, shifting the powered snow at their feet. He shivers and tucks his hands under his arms.

Merlin tears his eyes away from the sky to smile at him. “Come on then, Cabbage Head. Sir Leon will have my head if you freeze to death up here.”

“Are you looking to spend some time in the stocks?” Arthur grumbles as Merlin drags him inside and down the stairs. He gets no reply as he is manhandled down the passages of his castle.

Merlin releases him outside the throne room, straitening his collar and brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.

Arthur lets him fuss a moment in bemusement. “Will I do?”

Merlin huffs and dries the hem of Arthur’s cloak with a wave of fingers and flash of gold. He feels much warmer, like he’s been sitting beside a fire instead of out in the snow. 

Merlin steps back into his customary spot at Arthur’s right side. “After you, Your Majesty.”

ii.

Arthur has the first dream a week after the Battle of Camlann.

There is hardly time to breath in the aftermath. He negotiates a formal surrender with the remaining Saxons, sends out search parties for any survivors, ensures his men have enough food and medical supplies. When he stops moving, sits too long, he realizes there is time he can’t quite remember ( _but he can remember the deafening clash of metal, of lightning in the air, and the rows upon rows of bodies of his men littering the field_ ).

With the battle won and his commanders assembled around him, Arthur had listened to Merlin’s explanations. The prophecy foretelling of a great new kingdom. The death of Morgana at hands of Merlin himself. The bitterness and betrayal in his chest ( _we are two sides of the same coin;_ and _I have always been by your side and will continue to do so until my end;_ and _my magic was created for you_ ). 

They stop speaking. Arthur morns the friendship and warmth that he has lost, but then he recalls the years of lies and he wants to scream, he wants to grab Merlin by the shoulders and find out why he never told him, but everything has changed now.

He avoids Merlin.

He isn’t the only one. Half the camp is keeping their distance, awed and fearful of the sorcerer hidden in their midst for so long. Arthur assigns Lancelot to keep and eye on Merlin in case anyone gets any ideas. It’s the most he can offer right now, but Merlin seems to understand that. 

They bury Morgana’s body. Arthur knows he lost Morgana long ago, but her death still leaves him gasping with loss. He feels nothing but empty ( _when the dust settles and the living leave, what happened to the dead left behind?_ ).

The dream catches him the night before they return to Camelot. 

He is back on the field of battle. The shadowy figures of armed men fade in and out of the darkness like wraiths, momentarily appearing and flashing away. He tries to join the fight, but finds he can’t move. When he looks down he is knee deep in muddy water, holding him in place. 

Morgana’s voice begins to echo around him until it is deafening. He covers his ears, trying to block out the shrieking. “Where are you?!” he yells, but she only cackles in response. 

Silver pierces the black, sparking out and causing Morgana to howl in rage. Through the gloom Arthur can see a figure above him, staff raised to the sky.

“Merlin!” He pulls at his legs, wrenches them out of the mud and scrambles up the bank. The blackness presses down on him and he stumbles, suddenly blind.

There is the shriek of metal behind him, and Arthur whirls around. His sword is suddenly in his hand, but he knows he will be too late to stop the blade. He braces himself for the blow…that never comes. 

The darkness melts away to reveal a young woman. She smiles kindly, but there is something in her eyes that old and sharp.

“Be warned, Arthur Pendragon,” she says in a voice that sounds like the cracking of rock. “The threat has not been vanquished. It will arise again.” 

“ **Arthur!** ”

He gasps in to wakefulness. There are familiar hands on his face and arms. Merlin?

The hands withdraw. Merlin is perched on the edge of the cot. He looks pinched and worried.

“Was I-?”

“Dreaming.” Merlin nods. He releases Arthur and leans away. Wary. Ready to run. “Lancelot heard you. You were calling out my name.”

Arthur nods. He scrubs a hand down his face, collecting his thoughts. Merlin shifts beside him, and suddenly Arthur has no trouble meeting his eyes. He has a small cut across his cheekbone. His eyes are the same blue they have always been. Arthur doesn’t know why he expected any differently. 

He suppresses the urge to run his fingers across Merlin’s cheek. 

“Are you…” Merlin trails off. He ducks his head, squares his shoulders like he is getting ready for a fight. _Are you angry with me? Are you okay?_

Arthur blows out a breath. The dream still feels a little too real, and he glances quickly into the corners of his tent. Nothing. Then why does he feel like it was a warning? “Is Morgana…?”

There is a pause. Slowly, Merlin takes his hand, squeezing it between his own. “I used Excalibur,” he says softly. He looks up at Arthur from under his lashes. “She’s not a threat anymore.” 

Something in Arthur unwinds. He flops back onto the bed, feels Merlin lay carefully beside him. 

“It’s over.”

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night, but Merlin’s hand doesn’t leave his.


	2. A Secret Never To Be Told

iii. 

Arthur doesn’t spare another thought to the magpie again until Gwaine, of all people, brings it up. 

His Knights are gathered around his original round table, maps and papers strewn across the top. It has been a surprisingly quiet few months, Camelot finally calm and at relative peace. 

The only trouble has been an increased mercenary activity at Camelot’s borders, the last remnants of Morgana’s forces that had escaped capture during the battle. Knights need to be sent out to the edges of the kingdom to ensure the danger is dealt with, and patrols need to be planned for the surrounding towns. Extra grain and supplies will also be needed for the outlying villages hit harder by winter storms. 

Merlin has tucked himself into the corner of the room, idly flicking through one of his spell books. Although he insists his rooms are too cold during this time of year, Arthur knows better. Merlin can’t help but be in the middle of things, as if he is reminding himself he belongs. As Arthur watches he bites his lip, humming under his breath as he squints at the page. Something bursts in Arthur’s chest, warm and fond. He focuses back on the conversation, embarrassed for flushing like a maiden. It must be the stress getting to him. 

Leon is outlining the guard rotations for the next fortnight. “We need to change the patrol routes for the guards at the west gate. The current ones aren’t covering as much ground as they should be.”

Arthur checks against the list of available men. “Gwaine, you can take the patrols.”

“As the bravest and most loyal knight in Camelot, I am happy to babysit some guards for the evening,” Gwaine says with a smile and a small, mocking bow. 

“Oh, of course, the bravest,” Percival snorts. 

“Most handsome too. Tell them, Merlin!”

“Mm-hmm. So handsome,” Merlin says distractedly, flipping another page.

Arthur watches the back and forth his knights with an amused smile. “Tell me, Gwaine, are you also the most talented?” Arthur asks. 

The reaction is instantaneous. 

“Of course!”

Elyan scowls. “I’d like to see you best me at archery.”

Leon sighs wearily at the chaos around the table. “Can we decide the patrols routes at some point?”

“What is your best shot, Sir Gwaine?” Lancelot asks. He seems to genuinely want to know, nodding Gwaine along. 

“He couldn’t even hit the target yesterday,” Percival says, shaking his head in dismay. “Almost hit a bird flying by instead.”

“I purposely missed it.” Gwaine plops his feet onto the table and leans back in his chair. “Best not to disturb magpies at this time of year.” He closes his eyes and raises his hand, giving an odd little salute. 

Elyan raises his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you believe those silly superstitions.”

Arthur frowns. “Superstitions?”

He is ignored. Of course. He is only the king, after all.

“I’ve seen many unexplained things in this world,” Gwaine says. He points at Elyan. “That magpie is a bad sign.”

“Scared of some birds?” Elyan goads. 

Gwaine is all grins, but his eyes harden. He chairs bangs onto the floor as he suddenly leans forward, gripping the edge of the table. “Trust me. The veil is thin at this time of year. You never know what’s wandering the world.”

“Gwaine…”

Gwaine stands and turns to Arthur. “Excuse me, Princess. I should get to the west gate. Those guard routes aren’t going to plan themselves.”

Arthur blinks at him. “Of course.”

With a small bow, Gwaine turns and strides out of the room.

The room quiets. Elyan looks as confused as Arthur feels. _What was that about?_

It’s Percival who breaks the silence. “Out one too many nights at the tavern.”

Everyone laughs and the tension is broken. Conversations resume, but the interaction leaves a strange taste in Arthur’s mouth. He glances over at Merlin. 

He is still on the same page, contemplating the empty doorway Gwaine has just disappeared from. Merlin meets Arthur’s gaze and shrugs. But as the knights move on to mocking Elyan’s mace work Arthur catches him staring at the sky out the window, his eyebrows drawn together.

iv.

At dusk, with the concerns of the day behind and nothing to distract him from the odd conversation this afternoon, Arthur brings it up.

“What was that about?”

“Hmmmm?” Merlin is lounging in one of the high back wooden chairs by the fire, glass of wine dangling from his fingers. He is staring into the flames, although Arthur doubts if he is actually seeing them.

They have retired to Arthur’s chambers. Although Merlin no long serves him, hasn’t in a year, the quiet evenings together are a habit that Arthur finds soothing. When the servants have been dismissed and they are sat beside the hearth, Merlin flicking his fingers to create animals from the dancing flames and eyes flashing with a golden glow, Arthur feels more like himself. He has space to simple be, to put aside the crown and responsibilities that give it weight. And in the quiet companionship, if he wishes for more, wants to reach out and touch, no one has to know but him. 

“What Gwaine was saying about the magpies.” Arthur pushes away the last of his reports, and his chairs scrapes across the floor as he rises from his desk. He crosses the room and holds his hands out to the flames, wiggling his fingertips to get some warmth back into them. “You seemed to know what he was talking about.”

In his periphery, Merlin doesn’t look up, but the grip around his goblet tightens. He shifts restlessly in his chair, but doesn’t speak. 

“What's wrong with you?”

“It’s nothing.”

Arthur almost rolls his eyes. “It’s obviously not nothing if you’ve got that look on your face.” 

Merlin huffs and glares a little, but he still doesn’t answer. 

Arthur wants to poke him again, but half a lifetime of Merlin-wrangling had taught Arthur that pushing will get him nowhere. Instead he sit in the other chair and listens to the popping of the dry wood. He sets his boots against the stone of the fireplace, thinking. “Why do the magpies worry you?” Arthur settles on instead.

Merlin looks unwilling to answer, but turns his gaze to Arthur. “It’s just an old wives tales.”

“ _Merlin._ ”

“They’re an omen,” Merlin finally admits. “In the Old Religion, magpies are omens of death.”

Arthur blinks. That is…not what he’s expects Merlin to say. “And do they? Bring death?”

Merlin shrugs. The flickering light casts his eyes in shadow. “It’s an old superstition. Mum used to say the number of magpies that are seen together will tell if one will have bad or good luck.” He relaxes back into his chair, smiling slightly. “I told you, just a myth.”

Arthur shakes his head, chuckling. “Trust Gwaine to make a big deal out of that. _Omen of death_ , honestly, Merlin.”

Merlin’s smile is bigger now, crooked and wide. “He is one of a kind.”

They fall back into a companionable silence, quiet expect for the crackling of burning logs. When he glances out the window Arthur can see snow drifting past the pains, covering the castle in a veil of white. 

v. 

It’s been a year since the last dream. This one catches Arthur completely unawares. 

He is in the Darkling Wood. The sun shimmers down through the empty branches and casts dappled patterns across the snow. No matter where he looks, the forest seems to be lifeless. Not even the birds sing.

“What are we doing out here?”

When he turns Merlin is by his side. He is dressed in the simple clothes he wears when they are hunting.

The words that come to Arthur are not his own. “We are searching for something.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully. He gazes through the empty trees. “What will you do when you find it?”

Arthur has no idea who they are talking about, but again he knows the answer. “I will stop what is coming.”

Something shifts in the air, and the sun disappears. The wood looks much less charming now, and Arthur feels eyes on him although there is no one around. 

“We should-” But when he glances over his shoulder he is alone. 

“Merlin!” he whirls around. The trees seem closer, more threatening, bending towards him with their branches outstretched. Suddenly it is night, and the air is full of whispers. 

“Arthur.” There is a woman before him, familiar and strange at the same time. _Have I met you before_?

“Who are you?” Arthur asks. Is this who he was looking for? Where is Merlin?

Laugher echoes around him. The woman’s gaze bore into him, holds him still. Gold swirls in her eyes. 

The edges of Arthur’s vision begin to fade.

“Year’s end is the height of darkness. Those lost may rise to walk again.” Her voice is as gentle as a whisper. “Albion is at risk.”

Arthur’s vision is black, and his heart is in his mouth. “What must I do?” he asks into the darkness. 

There is no answer.

He snaps awake at full alert, tangled in his sheets and drenched in sweat. Soft moonlight shines through the window, and it calms his racing heart. 

He runs his hand through his hair, still shaky. The dream is fading already, but it feels familiar. Has he had it before? There was a woman… He closes his eyes in an attempt to remember, but the images slip away like water through his fingers. 

He has forgotten the dream by morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments! :)


	3. A Dastardly Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be weekly updates at this point (I have everything written out, for the most part).
> 
> General eeriness, but no warning for this chapter.

vi.

The border patrol returns a week later. Merlin watches them spill into the throne room in sweeps of red, Lancelot at the front. The knights usually report to Leon privately, but Arthur has planned this public show of strength, wanting the people to see the power of Camelot and that Morgana was really no more. 

“Sire.” Lancelot drops to his knee in a bow, then snaps to attention and waves forward the party. “We were successful in stopping the intruders at Camelot’s borders. The Saxons are finally no more!”

Applause echos around the throne room, but a pang of pain shoots through Merlin’s chest. Sometimes he feels like the only one to remember Morgana as kind, magnificent in her defence of those in need, a force to behold. But the time for grief is over. She had chosen her fate long ago.

Arthur waits until the rooms quiets. His face is a mask of calm, but when he glances at Merlin there is sadness in his eyes. 

“Camelot thanks you for your bravery, Ser Lancelot.” He addresses the rest of the knights. “You have served your kingdom faithfully today.”

Lancelot bows again. “Thank you, Sire.” He meets Merlin’s eyes, then Arthur’s, and purposely stares at the door to the receiving chamber off to the side of the throne room. 

An uneasiness settles over Merlin. _What happened on the road?_

Arthur doesn’t react except to very slightly nod his head. “You must be tired,” he says to the gathered knights. “Go rest, and know you have my gratitude.”

Arthur stands and the room rises with him. He nods to the court, and strides towards the side door. Merlin follows him.

“What’s going on?” Merlin asks and Lancelot falls in stride beside him. “Is anyone hurt?”

Lancelot shakes his head, looking concerned. “We found something.”

When Merlin enters Percival is waiting for them. He is holding a leather satchel close to his chest.

Arthur turns to face Lancelot. “Well?”

“The remaining Saxons were raiding the boarder villages. They were using a small keep, storing all their bounty. There were objects there, things that…” Lancelot trails off. “We believe Morgana was using it before the attack at Camlann.”

The air seems to leave the room. Arthur freezes, staring at the bag. 

“We thought Merlin should take a look at them,” Percival says. 

Everyone turns to look at him. Merlin squares his shoulders and nods. “I think everyone should stand behind me.”

The knights immediately move to the other side of the room. Merlin smiles at them, but he’s not sure it looks reassuring. 

Arthur takes several paces back and crosses his arms. 

Merlin takes a deep breath, and empties the satchel onto the table. There is a collection of dried herbs and several scrying crystals, all of which are harmless. A small leather bound book catches his eye. It falls open to the middle in his hand, and Merlin sucks in a breath when he realizes what it is he is holding. The pages are full of small neat lines in Morgana’s hand. Some passages are scratched out, and others are covered in symbols that he doesn’t understand. 

This is Morgana’s grimoire. 

Merlin has opened his mouth to say so when a small stone catches his eye from the mess on the table. 

It is the length of his palm, smooth and dark as if it had spent a long time submerged in water. There is gold etching on the side, unlike any language he has ever seen. 

“Is there anything dangerous?” Arthur asks.

Merlin ignores him and focuses on the stone. Something about it feels…off. As he watches, the dark purple surface refracts and shimmers into blue and pink. His skin begins to feels itchy, like there is a living thing crawling underneath it.

“-do you think, Merlin?”

He looks up, gripping the book in his hand. The stone is dark and still.

Arthur has moved across the room to look over his shoulder. “Is it dangerous?” He is tense beside him, eyes pinched. He looks tired.  
“You were right to bring these,” Merlin says to the knights instead of answering. He holds out the book to Arthur. 

Arthur’s eyes widen as he realizes what he is holding. “This could have been disastrous in the wrong hands.” He looks to the stone that has captured Merlin’s attention. “And that?”

Merlin raises his eyebrow at him, and Arthur backs up again. He waves his hand. _Get on with it._

Merlin shuts his eyes. “Hierste þæt íecen sóna!” He sweeps his fingers across the stone’s surface, allowing his magic to do the same. The magic moves through it, along the cracks and around the edges. When he opens them again Arthur has moved closer, awaiting his verdict.

“It’s just a rock.”

“Are you sure?”

Merlin picks it up, the stone a cool weight in his hand, and waits. 

Nothing happens.

“Yes.”

Arthur blows out a breath. “We’re lucky it’s nothing worse.”

Percival claps Merlin on the shoulder, and he stumbles against the table. “What did we do before you?”

Merlin chuckles under his breath. “Get caught up in curses, I suppose.” 

But when he glances over, Lancelot still looks troubled. “Merlin, are you sure?”

“I’d like to look into the symbol more. Whatever Morgana intended is likely to be troubling. And then there’s that.” He gestures to the book in Arthur’s hands. 

Arthur nods, and passes it back. “See if you can find anything. Report back on what you discover.”

The conversation turns to the capture mercenaries, but Merlin can’t focus on them. For a moment, he could have swore he felt something, some force moving inside the stone. He shakes himself. The conversation with Gwaine has simply unsettled him. 

He sweeps the objects back into the bag, and pockets the stone. 

Morgana’s grimoire sits unassumingly in his hands. 

vii.

The books begins as Morgana’s diary, and Merlin reads through her pain and suffering from the months after he poisoned her, her anger at Camelot. The early pages are full of her visions of what is to come, and it is only halfway through when he comes across her spell casting. 

The spells are dark and twisted, created with a heart full of isolation and betrayal. They shatter Merlin’s already broken heart. The magic in them feels sticky and cloying, as if he has dipped his hands into shadows. Merlin takes careful note of them, lost in memories. If he had only ... but it does not do to dwell on what could have been, and Merlin bows his head, taking a moment to banish the Morgana he knew from his mind. 

The neat script becomes harder to read as Morgana slowly unwinds. Soon the pages are covered in scattered ramblings and half formed spells. The symbols on the stone comes up more frequently as he gets to the end. On one page it has been traced so many times that the quill has ripped through the paper. But even though he searches, he can find no meaning to the strange writing.

Eventually, frustrated and at a loss, Merlin seeks out Gaius. His old mentor takes one look at the grimoire and clears everything off the old wooden table Merlin has spent so many evenings at. 

It takes three days for them to find anything. 

“This writing is very old.”

Merlin looks up. 

Gaius is bent over the pages of the tomb he is reading. “It’s ancient.”

“What language is it?” Merlin asks. 

“I believe it is from one of the old groups of druids that lived here.” Gaius grabs his magnifier and skims the text. “Most of the language is lost, but the meaning of those symbols has survived. It seems to loosely translate as _the Hunt rises_.”

_Merlin is small, curled with his mother in front of the hearth. Snow falling heavily outside, and the wind screeches past the windows sounding like the squeals and braying of horses._

_“Can I go play, Mum?”_

_“Oh, my little bird, it’s not safe out at this time in the year.”_

Merlin pulls the book over to him and runs his fingers over the words. “I think Mum told me stories about them as a child.” 

Gaius nods. “She would have. I told them to her when she was small. There are many children’s songs written about them.” He clear his throat, and then sings in a deep gravelly voice, “ _In height of darkness, at year’s end…_ ”

“ _…Spirits rise to walk again_ ,” Merlin finishes. “I know that song. It’s about the Hunt?”

“It is. It is said to be a ghostly group of hunters that rise on the darkest day of the year.”

“Ghosts?”

“The hunters are souls of the dead that ride in the roar and howl of the winds, carrying on war and hunting those who get in their way,” Gaius explains. “They are the untamed forces of nature in its dark and chthonic aspects. Some sources claim that the hunt are corrupt druids, magic users who wanted to control forces beyond their abilities and were warped by the dark powers they looked for. It’s still believed that they roam the countryside looking for lost souls to hunt for sport.”

Merlin shivers despite himself. Is this what Morgana was looking for? Why had she traced the symbols endlessly in her last weeks?

Gaius has pulled the book back and continues to read aloud. “They are lead by a demon, a soul who has lost their humanity and become the aspect of a dark and dreadful power who will stop at nothing until their hunt is complete.”

Gauis turns the page and Merlin circles the table to stand at his side.

The page is covered with a large illustration of a figure sat upon a black horse, huge and hideous. Although it appears human, the artist has given it hands gnarled into claws and horrible red eyes.

Merlin grimaces. “Well that’s a horrifying drawing.”

Gaius huffs at him, fond and irritated all at once. “It’s a myth, Merlin. There is no evidence the Hunt has ever existed. Most likely it was created to keep people off other’s land.”

Merlin snorts under his breath. “What could be more off putting to playing around in the fields and woods than to risk your soul being snatched away by devilish huntsmen?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow at him. “Morgana must have been looking for proof of their existence. We can only be thankful that she never managed to find anything. The Wild Hunt are not to be trifled with, if the stories are to be believed.” He straightens up and turns to Merlin. “I will inform Arthur of these developments.”

Gaius is almost at the door when Merlin calls him back. “Gaius, do you really think that this is a myth? Could Morgana have found something?”

He has never seen Gaius look more serious. “I hope not, for all our sakes.”

Merlin settles himself at the table as Gaius leaves. The book has been left open to the dark figure on the horse, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it. It seems ridiculous, Morgana searching for this fairy tale. But then, so many things he once believed impossible have come to pass. 

He shakes his head, and pulls the grimoire back over. There may be something he is missing. 

viii.

Merlin is coming back from visiting Gwen in the lower town when he spots it. 

The magpie is dead, sprawled in the middle of the path back to the castle. It has fallen onto its back, wings stretched out as if still in flight. Black feathers stand out against the bright snow.

Merlin’s breath catches in his throat. He slowly and carefully wraps it in his neckerchief. His shivering has nothing to do with the cold. 

He finds Arthur in his chambers. “Look what I found by the lower town.”

Arthur takes in the dead magpie Merlin is clutching, and slowly shakes his head. “I thought you said that the birds weren’t a problem.”

“That was before,” Merlin says, and very carefully sets the magpie down on the rug beside the hearth. He takes several steps aways from it under Arthur’s bemused gaze. “I think something is happening.”

Arthur runs a hand down his face. “Look, Merlin, I understand you are concerned about whatever Morgana might have been planning. I am as well, but she has been gone for a long time.”

Merlin scoffs in irritation, and throws himself into the chair opposite Arthur. “Mum always said to stay indoors and attend the hearth at this time of year.”

Arthur blinks at the sudden change in topic. “I don’t understand.”

“The Druids believe that at the time of the winter solstice the bridge between the worlds is at its thinnest, and magic is at its strongest. Simple spells are more powerful, and the results of natural magic are never what you expect.”

Arthur nods. Over the past two years Merlin has taught him more about magic and sacred times for those who follow the Old Religion. The past several years Camelot has hosted a festival full of dance and drink and ceremony to welcome the sun back from the depths of the darkness during the longest night of the year. 

“But the past is not a dead thing,” Merlin continues. “They say that when the veil is thin spirits begin to stir and walk the paths they once lived. Every year Mum and I would sit in front of the fire and she would tell us stories about ghosts who had come back to haunt the living.”

“Is there a point to this?” Arthur asks.

Normally, Merlin would roll his eyes at the teasing. Today, he feels too tightly wound, on edge. “What if this is more than we think?” He snaps. “This time of year, the magpie. I think it’s an omen.”

“I thought you said-“

“I know what I said! But much as I wish I didn’t, I agree with Gwaine. It feels like something is coming, like something will happen.”

“I know it feels like there may be something to this-”

“ _Arthur-_ “ Merlin begins, but falls silent at his glare. 

“-but Morgana is gone, and you said yourself that there is no magic in the stone. Do you really think that this Hunt is rising?”

Merlin doesn’t know what he thinks, but he knows what he feels in his gut, and all these events can’t be coincidence. And for a moment his blood is singing with it, this old powerful magic stirring in the earth as winter gets longer and darker. He scratches at his chest, trying to rid him of the sudden energy. Is he imagining things?

Arthur is still waiting for his answer. 

“Arthur.” Merlin catches his hand. It feels like a last attempt. “I have never lied about threats to Camelot. Threats to you.”

_Please._

“I trust you,” Arthur says softly. “I will keep alert.”

And Merlin sags, because he knows that tone. It’s the same one he has heard so many times when he has tried to warn the King of threats he has fought from he shadows, threats were never taken seriously. He hopes Arthur will reconsider, will prepare some kind of plan for what he is sure is to come.

He hopes it will be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the whole song from Merlin’s past, if you’re curious.
> 
> _Burning hearth keeps out winter cold / sky hot silver, earth deep gold / In height of darkness, at year’s end / Spirits rise to walk again_
> 
> Wonder what that means? :)


	4. For a Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Please see end of chapter for warning notes! This chapter may be triggering to some.**
> 
> I am not posting them up here because I don’t want to reveal too much to those who don’t want to know (i.e., spoilers!).

ix. 

The throne room is overflowing. Every noble and courtier in Camelot is in attendance, packed into seats at the King’s request. Murmurs and questions fill the air as everyone tries to figure out why they are here. 

Merlin watches them from where he is leaning against the wall.

Gwen is standing at his side. She had insisted on being with him, and had managed to be excused from her duties for the morning. 

Merlin feels his palms begin to sweat. He wipes them on his tunic, full of anxious energy. 

Gwen frowns at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m nervous,” he whispers to her.

Gwen smiles. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes. “You’ve faced far worse and come out fine. A room full of silly courtiers is nothing compared to Cook after you’ve stolen her rolls.”

Merlin laughs under his breath. “I’ve never stolen anything of the sort.”

Gwen rolls her eyes. “Merlin, you and Arthur have been planning this announcement for weeks. Lancelot has told me about all the work you’ve done.”

It’s true. There have been endless meetings in preparation for this day, each detail planned out meticulously. There were days where he never thought that change would never come, that he would be hidden in the shadows forever. Nothing can compare to the joy he feels now that he is here, that Arthur has accepted all he can do. Still, Merlin can’t help the part of him that is screaming that this is a mistake, that he is exposing himself to be captured and executed. 

He opens his mouth, trying to find the words to explain when the doors open and a guard announces, “the King!”

Arthur strides into the room, every bit the imposing leader. He is in his finest robes, Pendragon red with gold trim to match Merlin’s own cloak. They had planned this, a statement of unity for a new age of peace. The crown set on his golden hair makes Merlin’s breath catch. It feels like he is looking into the sun, and his face feels hot as quickly stares at the ground.

Arthur climbs the steps to the throne and turns to face the room. “I have called you here today to share news of changes taking place in Camelot.”

Merlin tunes out the rest of the speech. He knows what it contains, having written it weeks ago. Instead he focuses on not throwing up his breakfast and taking deep, even breaths. 

Finally, Arthur says the words he has been waiting for. 

“The Crown calls Merlin of Ealdor to attend the court. Come forth and kneel before the throne.” 

The room bursts into whispers. Gwen squeezes his hand again, and Merlin takes a deep breath as he pushes off the wall.

People crane their necks to get a good look at him as he moves towards the throne. Although he was expecting this, has planned it out with Arthur, he feels raw. The castle already knows about his magic and has reacted better than he had ever dreamed they would. But standing up in front of the court after years of secrets makes him feel more vulnerable than he could have imaged. 

Arthur descends from the dais, drawing his sword. Excalibur sparkles in the light, and Merlin can’t help the shiver that goes through him.

Merlin kneels in front of him, heart in his throat.

“Do you swear fealty to Camelot, to use your magic to defend and protect the kingdom and its people?” Arthur’s voice is loud and clear. He looks out across the room of people. The tip of the sword comes to rest on Merlin’s left shoulder.

“I do.”

The steal moves to his right, cold against the side of his neck. “And do you swear to act without harm and uphold the law?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to be loyal to Camelot, now and forever more?” Arthur finally meets his eyes. He tilts his head slightly, gaze intense, and Merlin knows it is a question. _Are you loyal to me? Are we in this together?_

And suddenly, he feels himself relax. Merlin grins at Arthur, aware that no one can see his face. “I do, Sire.” _Until my last breath, for you Arthur._

“Then rise, Merlin of Ealdor, First Mage and Court Sorcerer of Camelot.”

Merlin will never forget this day. The shining light in Arthur’s eyes, smile on his lips as they stand together in front of whole court. The knights, his brothers in arms, dressed in their finest armour, polished and shining. The cheers of the crowd as Arthur announces the repeal on the ban on magic throughout Camelot. The celebrations that last through the night. 

Nor could he forget the swell of emotion in his heart, how proud and awed he is of his friend for all he has achieved. He truly is the prophesied king, the one to unite Albion.

He will never forget the beginning of a new age.

x.

Merlin has been jumpy since the patrols returned with Morgana’s spells, but the magpie changes things. He carries the grimoire with him everywhere, flipping through the pages looking for a sign. Arthur doesn’t say anything but Merlin stops bringing it up anyway, unwilling to see the worry in his face. He knows he is being obsessive, but he can’t stop his heartbeat galloping through his chest, muscles tense in anticipation for a threat that isn’t there. 

He is not the only one. The worsening weather has caused tempers to shorten and fray. The temperature drops rapidly and dark clouds begin to gather on the horizon, warning of a winter storm. The sharp cutting wind makes it impossible to train the knights, putting Arthur in an even worse mood than before.

With everyone stuck inside, Merlin takes to pacing his room. 

There is a great pressure building in the earth. Merlin can taste it in the air, can feel it in the way his magic swirls restlessly under his skin. 

The druids believe he is the greatest wizard to ever live, that his powers are beyond what mortals can comprehend. But sometimes it feels like he is a beginner, a boy with no idea what to do and a lot of dumb luck. Sometimes he can convince himself that his feeling is wrong. The Hunt is a myth from old. It’s a scary story his mother told him to stop him wandering the woods around their cottage. It’s an old wives tail.

Arthur is right. He has spent so long looking for spectors and assassins and threats from the shadows that he doesn’t know how to live in peace. Maybe he is imagining things.

But the dead magpie…

There is a knock at the door. When Merlin pulls it open Arthur stands on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin steps aside, thankful for a distraction. 

Arthur pushes past him and moves to stand in front of the fire. The castle is cold tonight, the air icy and still. “It’s late.”

Merlin joins him. “So?”

“So you were going to help me with the speech for the Solstice celebrations next week.” Arthur looks him up and down, assessing. “Did you forget?”

“Right, yes,” Merlin says distractedly, twisting his fingers together. “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes firmly on the fire, but Merlin can tell Arthur is starring at him. 

“Merlin.” Arthur voice is gentle and low, so unlike his normal tone. “Are you okay?”

Merlin shakes his head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He can feel tears gather in his eyes, and blinks them away angrily.

Arthur thankfully doesn’t comment, only nods his head. And suddenly Merlin can’t keep it to himself anymore. 

“It feels like a premonition.” The words burst out of him. “Like I missed something. I can’t stop thinking that the stone means something.” Is this what Morgana felt each time she had a vision? _Is this what it feels like to slip into madness?_

“Let me see it.” 

Merlin looks at him. Arthur is no nonsense, hands on his hips in expectation. 

“What?”

“You’re so worried about what you missed. Let me give you a second pair of eyes.” 

Merlin begins to shake his head. “But what if-”

“You said yourself it was safe. Where is it?”

“It’s on the desk.”

Merlin watches him walk over with something like relief in his limbs. Maybe Arthur really is right. He seems so confident that there is nothing wrong.

Arthur picks up the stone. 

The fire in the grate flares, bathing the room in a burst of orange light before blowing out entirely. A sudden wind bangs the windows open, screeching through the room and causing the papers on the table to blow everywhere. 

Arthur is frozen, staring at the rock in his hand. It shimmers in the dark, a multitude of colours. 

“Arthur, drop it now!” Merlin yells, already casting a golden shield around the stone as it clatters to the table. He flicks his fingers and a ball of blue white light bursts into existence over his head.

“You said the stone was harmless!” Arthur yells over the wind. He has grabbed the dagger Merlin knows he keeps in his boot. His face looks grim. “Are we under attack?”

Merlin does a quick check of his wards, but the web of enchantments he has painstakingly created is silent. There is nothing wrong but the electric pressure on his skin, the howling wind. “Camelot is safe! The wards are intact.”

There is something untempered and wild behind his lungs, wanting to leap out of his chest. The shield around the stone flickers, but he can’t focus on maintaining it. 

Arthur grabs him by the shoulders, grounding him into the earth. “Merlin! What it is?”

“Can’t you feel it?” Merlin asks, breathless. “It’s like lightning. I feel like…” Merlin takes a deep breath. And another. And another. “I can’t, it's–”

The stone begins to glow, bathing the room in purple. Thick dark smoke rolls out from it, heavy and dense.

“Þrosm tohweorfe!” Merlin shouts, but the spell does nothing to stop it.

The wind rips through his hair, and the earth sends another pulse of magic that is wrong ( _wrong wrong_ ) through his body that drives him to his knees. Howling pierces the night, and the sound of clattering hooves ( _are they real, or just in his head?_ ).

Arthur hasn’t moved. He is staring at the stone, transfixed. Merlin can see the refracting light reflected in his eyes. His skin is sallow in the purple light.

“What are you doing?” He yells as Arthur takes a step towards the table. “Arthur!”

Merlin’s head snaps toward the stone, thoughts racing. This is powerful magic, old and terrible. There are many pages of Morgana’s grimoire covered in ravings about Arthur and the throne. On one there are a series of half formed spells that all refer to the King, with the symbols woven in. What if she _had_ found a way to summon the forces of old, gods and demons from beyond the mortal realm? What if she _had_ found a way to summon the Wild Hunt?

The realization leaves him breathless, and he stares at the stone in horror. This is Morgana’s plan. A curse, hidden so well that Merlin himself couldn’t detect it. The spell must have been activated only when Arthur touched it, hidden in plain sight, a tinder waiting for the right spark. He has no idea what the spell will summon, what Morgana has asked the magic to do. But it is pulling Arthur in, and Hunt or not, Merlin won’t let the spell take him.

“Arthur!” He struggles to his feet, swaying in the gale that has started in his room. “Don’t!”

But the magic is too strong, and Arthur can’t seem to hear him. He reaches out towards the stone again. 

_Do you swear to be loyal to Camelot, now and forever more?_

_Until my last breath, for you Arthur._

Merlin fights through the magic in the room and shoves Arthur away, sweeping his feet out from under him. 

Arthur doesn’t see it coming. He hits the table on the way down, sprawling to the floor where he lays still. 

“Yfel limpan duguð fustra!” Merlin grabs the stone, forces the magic to focus on him and away from Arthur.

It’s like holding a star. 

The magic tears into him, excruciatingly painful. He feels heavy and slow, like dark muddy water is filling his lungs. Merlin can hear the sound of unhinged laughter, and the faint whispering sound of hunting horns. He can see Morgana’s face, wild and crazed as she was when he saw her last. _I want you to suffer as I suffered. To know what it’s like to be alone and afraid._

Then, there is another presence in his head. It brushes against his mind as gentle as a caress, ancient and cruel. Merlin’s limbs lock, and he has just enough presence of mind to raise his mental shields against it.

 _Hello, little warlock._ The voice is like oil. It fills his mind, echoing and spiralling. _I was looking for a king, but you will have to do._

He screws his eyes shut, holds his breath as his magic bursts out of him, trying to stop this thing from finding a way in.

 _Don’t be afraid_ , the voice croons to him. _Let me in._

 _No!_ Merlin tries to force the presence away, but it simple flows through his shields into every corner of his mind until he can’t tell where he begins and ends. He wants the pain to stop, but his mind is full of bloodlust, the need to hunt, to take souls and twist them. The thing slowly creeps up in the back of his head, and he fights it with everything he has, but the wind seems faint now, and darkness is closing in at the edges of his vision.

 _All this power_ , it chuckles. _I’m going to enjoy this._

It's all too easy to lose himself to it.

.  
.  
.

When the eyes blink open, Merlin is gone. The thing stretches its arms, flexes its fingers. So long since it’s been solid, been in a body. The human witch has made good on her promise. It is free at last.

It glances over at the figure crumpled on the ground, nudges his head with its boot. The King’s head lolls, and it scoffs in distain. Humans are so…breakable. But not this one, so full of old magic and potential that it can’t help but laugh.

It turns away to the window, and breathes in the icy night air. This mortal is not a priority, and there will be plenty of time to kill him later. 

It climbs onto the window ledge and whistles sharply. It can feel them, the spectres and stolen souls from beyond the veil, called together by it’s command. 

For now, the Hunt awaits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter contains possession against someone’s will, and plays with no longer being in control of your body. Make sure to take care of yourselves.**
> 
> Spells (did my best with translations):  
> Þrosm tohweorfe - shield spell used to stop air  
> Yfel limpan duguð fustra - I become the focus/Focus on me
> 
> I know Morgana never said those things directly to Merlin, but they were perfect quotes from the show that I am pretending he heard her say ☺ 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments.


	5. For a Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! My masters got super busy. Anyway, here we go :)
> 
> **Warning: See chapter end notes for content warning.**

xi.

The first thing he is aware of is the aching in his head. Voices echo around him, muted in the dark.

**Someone get the door open!**

**Arthur! Fetch Gaius, now!**

**Where is Melin?**

**Sire? Can you hear me?**

**Attend to the King!**

He drifts in the blackness. 

_Arthur…_

Time passes. He comes back to himself slowly.

_Arthur, you must awake. Albion needs you._

That voice. He knows it, as if from a dream.

The sound rattles around inside his head. Colours explode behind his eyelids.

_Arthur!_

He cracks open his eyes. 

He is in his chamber. Someone has laid him on his bed and taken off his boots. 

Arthur takes stock of his body. Everything is intact, but he feels weak. His mind is buzzing, unfocused. He slowly props himself up on his elbows, wincing at his aching head. 

The fire has burned low in the grate, bathing the room in dim orange light. Gwaine is dozing in the chair beside his bed, sword laid across his lap. 

Arthur shakes his head to try and clear the fog, but his thoughts feel slow and unclear. Why is he here? He thinks back, but everything in his mind feels jumbled together and unaccessible. Wasn’t he in Merlin’s….

**Merlin.**

He scrambles to his feet and the world spins, but Arthur ignores his shaking legs. He stumbles into the middle of the room, scanning every corner. Merlin is not here. There was the stone, and he had grabbed it…..but the memories evade him, and pain begins to build behind his eyelids. He presses the bases of his palms into his eyes, but it doesn’t lessen. There was a spell, wasn’t there? That eerie purple light. And a voice in his head, sickly and cloying and demanding. If he could just remember….

“Arthur!”

A hand presses against his shoulder, and he looks up. He has sunk to his knees in the middle of the floor. Gwaine is awake, kneeling beside him. His eyes sweep over him in concern.

“Gwaine, what happened?”

His knight shakes his head. “We should be asking you that, Princess,” he says. “I’ll explain if you lay back down.”

Arthur frowns, shakes his head and Gwaine helps him to his feet. “This is important.” He sways as a wave of nausea passes over him. 

Gwaine keeps a firm grip on his arm. ““You’ve been unconscious for over a day. Just come and sit-”

“Tell me what happened.”

There is a pause. Gwaine looks him in the eyes, takes a breath. “Merlin is gone,” he says gently. 

The air leaves Arthur’s lungs. “Explain yourself, now,” he growls out. 

“All I know is we heard this terrible shrieking and barking like hounds from hell, and when we found you, you were unconscious in Merlin’s room-”

And Arthur remembers. He yells out in pain, curling down over his knees as the memories are unlocked. The feeling of being alone, being locked out of his own body, watching his limbs move without being able to stop them. The thing in his mind, compelling him.

The thing that has Merlin. 

Even though the demon is gone from his thoughts he knows that it did this, kept him in the dark, played around in his mind so it would have longer to put distance between itself and Camelot. Longer to take a hold of Merlin, use him for his its own gains. 

He can hear noise around him. Gwaine is still beside him, arms around Arthur’s middle to keep him from falling.

When the pain fades and he can open his eyes again, he is sitting in a chair in front of the fire. The door to his chamber has been thrown open and Leon has joined Gwaine, kneeling in front of him. 

Arthur takes several deep breaths, trying to stop the tears prickling his eyes. 

“Sire?” Leon has his hand on his sword. “Arthur, what is going on?”

“I should have listened to him.” His hands are shaking and he grips the arms of the chair to steady them, trying to ground himself. “Merlin, he warned me that something would come, that Morgana must have planned something. He protected me.” His head is pounding, but the thought of losing Merlin is more painful than the aching in his skull. “I will find him. I can’t lose him. I can’t.” He’s rambling now, but he can’t seem to stop. 

Gwaine looks grim, understanding dawning on his face. “It’s not a myth, is it? The Wild Hunt is real.”

Arthur nods. “Yes.”

“What is going on?!” Leon looks back and forth between them. Arthur can see the fear in his eyes. “Sire, is the Kingdom in danger?”

Arthur looks at his knights, Leon tense and worried, Gwaine determined and angry. “Yes. I think the Hunt is rising.”

xii.

The body is found early the next morning.

Leon brings him the news as the sun is rising, and Arthur waves off George with breakfast to make his way to Gaius’s rooms. Gwaine has stayed on guard outside his chambers for the rest of the night, and follows behind them as they make their way through the passages and corridors. 

Arthur can feel the uncertainty in the air. Although Merlin hasn’t attended to him in over a year he is still friendly with many of the servants, and his disappearance has spread through the castle like wild fire. Although no one knows the details of what happened, people are worried. Tension lays as thick as the snow within the castle walls, the atmosphere oppressive and unbearable.

The body is laid out on Gaius’s work table when Arthur arrives.

The young man’s skin is pale, almost blue. His fingers are dark purple with frostbite from laying out in the snow all night. Spiralling patterns of frost snake up his stiff legs and arms. His eyes are dull, open and staring. In the centre of his forehead is a symbol that Arthur recognizes, would know anywhere from Merlin’s warnings, burned into the skin like a brand. 

Gwaine draws in a sharp breath. “By the gods…”

“A girl found him by the well,” Gaius says grimly. “The guards brought him here as soon as he was discovered.”

Arthur swallows. “Who is he?”

“He was the blacksmith’s apprentice from the lower town,” Leon answers, voice quiet. “His name was Thomas.”

Arthur looks away, feeling ill. He focuses on Gaius’s face. “Did Merlin do this?”

“It is no longer Merlin we speak of,” Gaius says sharply. He bows his head. Arthur waits, giving him a moment to compose himself. Merlin is like a son to Gaius, and Arthur knows he is just as worried. 

“My apologize, Sire.” Gaius’s tone is even when he speak again. “We can only assume that the being you encountered is now in control of Merlin like it was for you. We are dealing with the leader of the Hunt.”

“When it was in your head, did it give you any indication of what it wanted?” Leon asks.

Everyone turns to look at him. 

Arthur feels his throat tighten. The image of Merlin swims before his eyes, pleading with him to drop the stone and just for a second it's hard to breathe. He forces himself back into the present, back into the role of king and tucks his feelings away.

“It wanted to hunt,” Arthur says slowly. “It was gleeful when it realized it controlled me.” He looks at the body again. “It wanted death and war.”

Gaius nods. “Morgana was looking for a way to corrupt you, to make Camelot fall from the inside. We know that the spell seemed to focus on you, that you were the target.”

“But it got Merlin instead,” Gwaine says darkly. “The _most_ powerful person in this kingdom.”

Arthur’s heart clenches, and the room goes quiet at the prospect of Merlin’s powers used for sewing chaos and destruction. 

“Gaius, what do we know about this demon?” Arthur asks.

Gaius shakes is head. “Nothing for certain. The only information I have been able to find has been from legends and songs.” He moves to a side table and picks up an open book, pages curling and yellowed from age. “The myths say that the leader of the Wild Hunt rises first, summoned by magic and blood. It enters our world to look for a mortal body, a host to bend to its will. Then, on the longest night when the darkness is at its height, the demon summons its followers. It is at full strength on the solstice, when the veil between worlds is thinnest. On that night it will be at the height of its power.”

“What will it do next?” Leon asks.

“Once the Hunt has risen, they rampage through the forests and skies, preying on those who did not take shelter fast enough. They torture and kill their victims, who then rise again to join the Hunt.” Gaius bends over the body, examining the markings. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s as if he was completely frozen instantly. This magic could only have come from Merlin. I don’t know anyone else able to control the natural elements like this.”

There is a knock on the door, and Lancelot steps into the room. He takes stock of the situation, and Arthur can see his eyes widen at the young man on the table.

“A message has just arrived for you, Sire.” He grips the parchment tightly, but makes no move to hand it over. 

“Yes?”

“The messenger was like nothing I’ve seen on this earth.” It takes a lot to shake a knight of Camelot, but Arthur can see the uncertainty in Lancelot’s eyes. “He came to the Eastern gate. I could have sworn his eyes were red as coals. Seemed to fade in and out of our vision like smoke. We lost him, Sire.”

Arthur can feel the pounding of his heart. “Let me see it.”

"I need to get back," Lancelot says as he hands it over. "But I wanted to personally deliver this to you." 

"Thank you."

Lancelot holds his gaze. "I hope it helps." He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him

As he unfolds the parchment, Arthur’s breath catches at the familiar hand scrawled across the page. 

_Did you receive my gift?_

_The boy barely put up a fight. I doubt your little kingdom will either._

_See you soon, my Lord._

Suddenly Arthur is shaking with rage and despair. It’s playing with him, baiting him to try and show its power. Arthur has been learning strategy all his life, can plan a siege in his sleep. But he can’t see a way to stop this. _If only I hadn’t touched that stone_ , he desperately wishes. _Why did it have to be Merlin?_

“What does it say?” Leon asks.

Arthur hands the message over, and watches his First Knight’s brows wrinkle in concern. “It’s taunting us.”

“This is a message.” Arthur looks back to the body. “It wants us to know it’s coming, and to scare us with what is can make Merlin do.”

“The solstice is in two days, and that’s when the Hunt will be at full strength.”

“How do we stop them?” Gwaine demands, tuning to face Gaius. “Get that thing out of Merlin’s head?”

Gaius shakes his head. “I do not know.”

“We should send someone to ask Iseldir,” Gwaine says. “He has helped Camelot in the past. He may know something that could help.”

Leon shakes his head. “The Druid camp is a day’s ride, without the snow blocking the roads. We don’t have that much time.”

“I’ll go.” Gwaine looks to Arthur, determined. “Princess, if this thing is truly coming we need all the help we can get. And Merlin needs all the help we can give him.”

Arthur has never seen Gwaine this focused. “It’s the only plan we have right now.” He agrees. “Ride fast. Don’t stop for anything, and tell no one where you’re going.”

Gwaine nods, and is gone. 

“We need to organize Camelot’s defences.” Leon moves toward the door as well. “With your leave, Sire.”

“See to it.”

“Sire.” Leon bows, and strides out. Arthur moves to follow him. 

“Arthur.”

Gaius’s quiet voice stops him in his tracks. He looks older than Arthur has ever seen him.

“Merlin is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk this earth, and he is only just coming into all that he can do. I fear there is nothing we can do to stop him.”

Arthur pictures it. Remembers the raw lightning Merlin had created from nothing, how it had crackled across- the sky. How could anyone stand against the force of that magic?

“I fear we may be too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter contains reference to possession and contains a corpse and descriptions thereof. Make sure to take care of yourselves.**


	6. Part 1: Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I decide to do a masters anyway? Thankfully done for the holidays! Phew! It’s been quite a year.
> 
> Enjoy the next chapter!

xiii.

The next day passes both excruciatingly slow and much too fast. 

Everyone in the lower town is moved within Camelot’s stone walls, filling into the keep. The surrounding towns and villages have been sent messages and as many patrols as Arthur can spare to make sure they stay indoors, that the hearths stay lit throughout the night. He hopes that if there is no one to pursue then the Hunt will leave them be, and focus on the city instead. 

_See you soon, my Lord._

Another body is found by the guard patrols at daybreak on the morning of the solstice, glittering with frost at the edge of the Darkling Wood. There is no note with this one, but Arthur knows what it means. 

The Hunt will come tonight.

Although he has barely slept, Arthur finds himself on top of the battlements as the sun begins to drop lower in the sky, gripping the edge of the stone with stiff figures. 

He is out of options. 

Arthur knows what do to prepare for a battle. He makes strategies and plans and back up plans for those and can always see the next move he needs to take. And if he can’t see, can’t find the path then Merlin is always there beside him to help illuminate the way. Merlin has become his most trusted advisor, his constant companion, and he is dismayed to find that he has no idea what to do. The one person he wants the opinion of is not here and it is his fault. 

Arthur has no magic. How can he do anything to stop Merlin, who is more powerful than all the magic users in Camelot combined and more?

Lancelot finds him there. He takes the tension in Arthur’s frame and comes to stand quietly next to him. 

Together they look out towards the setting sun.

“He’s strong, our Merlin.”

Arthur glances at him. 

Lancelot stares straight ahead, battle ready in his armour. Arthur knows that Merlin and Lancelot are close, that this must be killing him. 

“I don't know what to do.” The minute he says them Arthur wishes he could pull the words back in. A king should not admit weakness, never unsure or wavering.

But Lancelot, ever the gracious knight, only grasps his arm and smiles. “We'll find a way.”

Arthur can only bring himself to nod, throat closed with emotion. Out of the corner of his eye he see Lancelot turns his head away, and Arthur takes several deep breaths in an effort to collect himself.

“Sire, look!”

Arthur turns. On the far side of the field, a rider emerges from the trees, galloping at a breakneck speed towards Camelot. In the fading light his red cloak stands out bright against the snow. 

Gwaine has returned.

Arthur meets him at the stables, Lancelot on his heals. Gwaine is windswept and pale as he dismounts, nose and cheeks red from the cold. 

“Princess,” he nods briskly, and Arthur can hear his teeth chattering. 

“Did you reach the Druids?” Arthur asks.

“Yes, thank the gods the weather held out. Barely made it through the forest, the snow drifts are-”

“And?” Arthur cuts him off.

“Iseldir gave me this.” Gwaine holds out a folded paper, sealed with a deep green wax. “He said that it’s a spell. Only the high priestesses of old were ever taught it, such is its power.”

The paper positively thrums with magic, and Arthur can feel his fingers tingling with it. He unfolds it, breaking the wax and skimming the contents.

“He insisted that you were the only one to see this.”

Arthur looks at him. “But I have no magic.”

Gwaine shrugs. “I did mention that, but Iseldir insisted. He said that this is the only thing that may have any chance at stopping Merlin.”

Arthur nods, mind spinning with new plans. He needs to find Gaius. They don't have much time.

“Thank you, Gwaine.” 

But Gwaine is watching the flock of magpie that has taken off from the stable roof to circle overhead with a dark expression.

“Whatever it says, it had better be worth it.”

xiv.

Dark clouds form overhead as the castle readies for siege. Arthur has instructed the gates stay open and positioned his men in courtyard, wanting to draw the Hunt in. If they are to have any chance, Arthur needs to get close enough to Merlin. There is no time to make another plan. He will have once chance to make this spell work.

Archers are set around the high walls, ready to strike at Arthur's signal. Leon and Elyan are braced inside the keep with a selection of knights, the last line of defence in case everything go wrong, although he has no intention of letting that happen. 

The lasts remnants of sunlight cast a golden glow on the walls before fading entirely, leaving them in darkness.

Arthur draws his sword, breathes in the cold winter air, and waits. 

All at once, silence falls. The wind disappears.

The clouds have become a solid wall, a tidal wave looming over the Camelot. Lightning crackles through the storm, liquid silver in the inky dark.

“In the name of the gods…”

A lone howl breaks the night, and then another. There is the growling of dogs, and the screeching of horses and hunting horns. The ground rumbles with the approaching force and shakes the foundations and Arthur can feel in his bones. 

The braying and howling is terrible, and makes the hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck stand up as it echoes off the stone and walls. 

“We’re with you, Sire,” Lancelot says from his left shoulder. 

Percival draws his sword, eyes on the gate. “Let’s bring Merlin home.” 

The figures bleed through the walls, passing through the stone like nothing. 

The hunt pour into the courtyard, pounding hooves on the cobbles drowning out the thunder from above. They swarm around the edges, circling the knights in a wall of shadows. Arthur can see monstrous dogs with burning eyes fading in and out of the dark, circling ghostly figures on horseback. They raise their weapons in hands, dark metal sparkling with the flashes of lightning.

Arthur feels his men tense beside him as they are encircled, but there is no sign of attack. 

A sharp whistle, and the uproar dies. The mass of riders by the gate parts. A slim figure mounted on a huge mare as black as the night cuts through them, a man that Arthur would recognize anywhere. His skin is pale, his face gaunt. He looked like a walking corpse, a revenant walking among the living again. 

“Merlin?” His voice comes out no more than a whisper, but the thing that looks like Merlin pauses at the sound of his voice, fixing Arthur to the ground with unsettling blood red eyes. He smirks, and Arthur swears that his teeth looks pointed, like a row of sharp spikes. 

He leans across the mare’s neck, gazing across the courtyard at the knights with a manic grin. 

“Hello Arthur,” Merlin purrs. “Thank you for the welcome party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're close to the end now :) Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Part 2: Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the home stretch now :)
> 
> **Please see the end of the chapter for warnings!**

xv.

“What is that?”

Merlin looks up at him, lip caught between his teeth in concentration. “Hmm?”

It’s a fine day, summer sun shining down on his head. He is taking a rare break in the small walled garden off the side of the keep. Arthur loves it here, the peace and solitude despite the business of the castle. There is a large oak tree in the centre, its branches stretching up towards the light and providing shade again the hot sun. It’s one of Arthur’s favourite spots.

Today, Merlin joins him, books spread out around him in a semi circle on the grass. He has barely had a chance to breath with all the new responsibilities placed on him as Court Sorcerer, the past weeks showing them both just how much work there is still left to be done.

But today, Arthur has taken one look at Merlin’s face and dragged him outside. Now, with a basket of treats he has had Gwaine steal him from the kitchen and the guards firmly ordered to leave them be, Arthur watches as Merlin carefully writes a spell onto his paper. 

“What are you writing?”

“I’m trying to make a ward for the castle. Something to protect the city if we ever have need.” Merlin looks back at his paper. “I thought that invoking the Morrigan might lend it some strength, but I don’t think it’s working the way I’d hoped.”

There are days Arthur feels like he finally has a handle on magic, understands it. And then Merlin will bring up yet another thing that is unfamiliar to him. “Who?”

Merlin crosses out the line. “She is warrior goddess. Her name incites protection for warriors heading into battle and can help bring about victory over their enemies.”

“Handy.”

“If I can get it to work.” Merlin pushes aside his papers and fixes Arthur with a small smirk. “Do you want to hear a ghost story about her?”

Arthur laughs. “It’s hardly the right time of day for frightening tales, but enlighten me.”

Merlin sits up straight and folds his hands in his lap, expression comically sombre. “There once was a powerful warrior, the best and most fearsome of the age. His deeds were sung of in legends and he defeated everything he encountered with power and precision.”

Arthur scoffs. “Really, Merlin, the most fearsome?”

“Hush, you’re ruining the story.”

Arthur smiles and settles down against the trunk of the tree while Merlin glares at him. He waves a hand. “Please, proceed.”

Merlin pointedly ignores him. “Such was the warrior’s power that he attracted the attention of The Morrígan, Great Goddess of War and Fate. She looked upon his deeds and granted him her favour, a blessing to take into each fight.

But one fateful day he fell in battle, slain by his enemies. The Goddess mourned him, this bright warrior who understood and loved battle as much a she. So she tied his soul back to this realm.”

The sunlight dances across Merlin’s face as he pauses, watching the leaves blow. 

“And what happened?” 

“Nothing at first. His people rejoiced to have him back, and celebrations were held. But there was a rot in his heart, brought back from beyond the veil. A demon from the otherworld. It corrupted him. The goddess watched as her champion became twisted, attacking innocents and reveling in their pain and misery.”

Arthur is engaged despite himself. “What did she do?”

“What any warrior does. She met him on the field of battle. But his twisted soul couldn’t be destroyed. It it was by her hand that he was trapped beneath the earth in an eternal sleep, a final resting place for the one she had placed her trust in.”

Merlin meets Arthur’s eyes, his voice quiet and sharp. “Now he walks the earth again, looking for irritating kings to haunt.”

Arthur throws a book at Merlin’s head. He dodges it, laughing. “That wasn’t even frightening. Your storytelling needs work.”

Merlin is still chuckling. “Another thing I can’t do right. Why do you keep me around?”

Arthur’s heart thuds. He takes in the other man, longs legs crossed, dark hair shining in the sun and his face feels hot. “I can’t think of a single reason.”

xvi.

This feels like a nightmare.

Arthur desperately wishes it was, but Merlin is still in front of him, mocking smirk stretched across his face. 

It slides off it’s mount and looks around the courtyard. “I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality.” Merlin’s voice sounds nothing like his own, too smooth and sly. “Camelot’s people have been wonderful prey. Such a shame you took away our fun when you ordered them inside tonight."

The Hunt jeers from all around them, laughing at their leader’s words. 

“This body came with so many perks.” Its eyes flash and suddenly fire dances along the tops of the walls as all the archers bows are set ablaze. “Its been so long since I’ve had this type of power. I did mean to thank the little witch for her spell work, but….” It shrugs. “Mortals never last very long.”

He can feel Lancelot tensing beside him, hear Percival’s growl of anger, but Arthur keeps his expression stoney.

_“You will have one chance at this,” Gaius tells him. They are leaning over his workbench. The note from Iseldir lays between them. “You’ll have to get it close enough to invoke the magic.”_

_“I don’t understand how I will be able to do this.”_

_“This is not a true spell, not really. It’s a prayer, a ritual of protection used by those of old. You need no magic to ask the old gods for assistance.” Gaius grimaces. “Iseldir must think that you’re the one she’s most likely to hear.”_

_Arthur thinks that the old gods are probably not going to listen to the son of Uther Pendragon, has never felt so unsure, but the sun is almost set and he knows he is out of time. He nods.“Thank you for everything, Gaius.”_

_Gaius grips Arthur’s hand. “Remember, this demon is first and foremost a hunter. If you want to catch it unawares, you must act like prey. Lure it in.”_

“What have you done to Merlin?”

“Oh, do you like it?” It hold out its hands, flexes its fingers. “Almost worth the pain of it all. Well, I say pain, but I didn’t feel any.”

It saunters up to Arthur, stopping several paces away.

“Your pet sorcerer managed to keep me out of your head. Should have done the same for himself. He has so many feelings about you. Did you know that he’d do anything for you?” It is watching Arthur closely with burning red eyes, looking for any weakness. 

Arthur flinches. 

Merlin smiles a him like a tomcat who caught a bird. “Ah, you care about this mortal, don’t you? It must be killing you to see him like this.”

Arthur raises his sword, but before he has even completed the motion it bursts into dust, dissolving through his fingers.

Before him, Merlin’s eyes glow gold. “Now now, none of that. We’re just getting to know each other.”

Arthur backs away and it follows him, pointed teeth on display. _Just a couple steps more._

“What do you want?” He lets a little of his desperation into his voice, widens his eyes in what he hopes is the right amount of fear.

“An eon of sleeping under the earth gets awfully boring. I want to play, _Your Majesty_.” 

The Hunt presses in on them from all sides.

“The big question now is how do I kill you?” It snap its fingers. “I could let my dogs tear you apart, but thats so messy.”

From behind him, two giant hounds pad forward to circle the knights. Arthur can see red staining their teeth as they growl.

“Or I could remove the air from your lungs and watch you suffocate.”

It raises Merlin’s hand, fingers spread, and it feels like there are bands of metal around Arthur’s chest. It’s impossible to take a breath, and he can heard his men dropping around him. And suddenly it is over. Arthur sways, gasping lung-fulls of air but manages to stay on his feet. 

“But I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you a choice, mortal.” It’s voice is quiet, soft and intimate just for Arthur’s ears. “Kneel before me, and I may let your kingdom live. One death for the many.” 

Arthur looks into the familiar eyes and sees only malice and dark glee. “How do I know you’ll keep that promise?”

Merlin smiles. “Do you have any other choice?” 

They stare at each other, unblinking, cold wind whipping straight through their cloaks. Finally Arthur averts his eyes, lets it win. It goes against everything in him, but he slowly sinks to his knees, bowing his head. Arthur ignores his men’s shouts of dismay, of despair at his surrender. _Come on, just a little closer._

Merlin stands over him, for a moment just a dark shadow against the burst of lightning, and finally steps into the circle of branches buried under the snow. 

“Now!” Arthur yells, and Gaius, who has been obscured from view behind Percival, throws out a hand and says “Gehaeftan!”

_“You’ll need something to bind it until the ritual is completed.”_

_Gaius pulls down the long thin branches that decorate the windows, piling them on the table. “Rowan has long been used to protect against evil and spirits. There is nothing that can hold Merlin’s powers for long, so you’ll have to be quick.”_

Flames burst into existence, burning through the snow, sprinting across the cobbles to form a circle surrounding both of them. Merlin howls with rage as the ring is completed and the courtyard bursts into chaos. The Hunt swarms around the outside, looking for a way to their leader.

“I call on the rowan to cast a circle of protection above, below, within!" Arthur yells. "I bind you from doing harm. Gehaeftan!”

A shimmering barrier bursts up and around the them like a dome, just as a huge hunter notches his bow and fires it at Arthur’s heart. The bolt stops in mid air, met with the resistance of the spell. The barrier is holding.

Merlin looks at him in fury, crazed, and Arthur realizes he has never seen that look on his face before. 

“You think this pathetic binding spell will hold me?” Its voice is like ice. “You think I won’t tear your heart from your chest for this once the magic wears off?”

Arthur holds its gaze, no longer prey. “I won’t let you harm my people.”

Merlin lunges at him.

But Arthur has been making Merlin train with him for years, and knows just how useless in a fist fight. He blocks the strike and lands a good blow against Merlin's ribs. 

Merlin goes down hard, and Arthur begins the ritual.

“O Goddess! Lady of the Magpies, light in the darkness, She who walks the warrior’s path, I stand before the gathering storm and call you to join us on this night!”

“What are you doing?!” It screeches from the ground, eyes wide.

Arthur ignores it. He can see the smokey battle ranging around them, his knights moving in and out of the black with howls and screams. 

“Great Morrigan, Red Queen, I seek you blessing! Be with me this night!”

Merlin throws another punch that Arthur dodges. He invokes her a third time. 

“O Goddess! Lady of Battle, Phantom Queen, I call upon your aid! Come to this warrior to aid in the fight!”

Nothing, and then....

Arthur can feel it in his bones. The temperature rises. There is a presence all around him, and when he opens his mouth the words are not his own. 

“Hello, my champion,” he says. “This needs to end.”

Merlin laughs. “You're champion is long dead,” it spits out, holds its arm out wide. “You couldn’t stop me the last time. What makes you think now will be any different?”

Arthur is overcome by a great sadness, both his own feeling and not. “I have had an age to prepare for your return,” he says. “Your time here is over.” And magic flows through him, golden as the sun.

Merlin's eyes are mix of red and his own bright blue. “Stop!” He shrieks, hands gripping his head.

“Goodbye,” Arthur says quietly. 

The magic increases, electricity in the air, and Merlin screams as there is a flash of blinding light. 

The sky clears. 

The wind dies away.

Arthur blinks the spots out of his eyes to find an empty courtyard. His knights are battered and bloody, still on alert.

The Hunt has disappeared. 

“Arthur?” 

Merlin’s voice is small and quiet. He stands in front of Arthur, shaking, curled in on himself. Even in the dim light, Arthur can see his eyes are blue. “Is it..?”

“It’s gone.” Arthur grabs Merlin to his chest, feels the tension leave his body as Merlin buries his head in Arthur’s shoulder. He is freezing and shaking and Arthur has never been so glad to see him in his life. “It’s not a threat anymore.”

He looks out over his knights, at those the lost on the ground, at the man in his arms.

“It’s over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Descriptions of possession again, if that bothers you. Also some cannon typical violence.**
> 
> Spell translations:  
> Gehaeftan - bind/tie/restrain
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and happy holidays!


End file.
